


Echo (overload)

by Anonymous



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alex Manes is a deadly weapon, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Graphic Description, M/M, Rape Aftermath, Revenge, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:54:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22438303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Alex's ex captures Michael to get his revenge on Alex. But Alex is not to be messed with.Straight up torture/rescue, no significant plot, no redeeming value.
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 20
Kudos: 91
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Mind the tags. Dead dove do not eat is real. Graphic.

There was ragged breathing in Michael's ear, hot and harsh. Fingers moving in time, squelching into him roughly, wet with come and slick. He didn't even try to close his thighs, no point, they'd just end up cuffed apart like his hands were. Stretched over his head and held tight. A pained whimpering noise escaped him before he stifled it.

"You love this, don't you?" The mutter of that voice was relentless, inescapable no matter how hard he tried to block it out. Laughter. Rough fingers angled inside. A lot of them. Blunt and thick enough to burn his already broken open body. "So open and easy now."

Michael bit down on his torn lower lip. Tasted blood. Another hand slid down between his legs, cupping his soft cock while he tried not to flinch. Flinching was not-- if he--

Laughter. "Alllllex," the voice, laughing, booming. "I hope you're watching. Your boy is having so much fun without you. I could probably get my whole hand into him at this point. Do you think he's ruined for your dick for good or will he tighten up again if I give him a break?"

Michael squeezed his eyes shut. Not flinching. Voice, over the phone, shitty connection, he couldn't sob, though, not if Alex was listening. Anger, calm with it, steady. Alex, Alex, watching this from somewhere, not, no… "I wouldn’t worry about that," something, rage, rage, rage, disgust, scouring over Michael's skin. A sharp gasp tore out of his throat before he bit it back, barely keeping in screams. Four fingers at least.

"Oh, I’m not worried, I’m not giving him a break. How about you? Wanna share, Alex?" That voice. Wet, sticky hands pulling on Michael's hair, pulling his head back, facing something. Camera probably. Alex, Alex was watching this. Michael didn't dare open his eyes, he didn’t want to see if Alex was-- if it was two ways, the camera-- he didn’t want to see Alex’s face, the expression the-- "Bet he'd love that. He cries for you. Not like at first though, guess he's starting to like me more."

There was a pause. Just more breathing, hot and heavy, up in Michael's ear. But it was even breaths from the speaker, steadying-- one, two, three, breathe, one, two, three.

"Ok," and Alex sounded so calm and reasonable, just layering over the cold disgust that he still had to feel. "Why don't you tell me where you are and I'll come and share?" Shitty phone connection? Was it? He sounded clearer every second that past.

Laughter again. Hurt, the nails were ragged and torn up, Michael’s wrists were torn up, don’t look. "Really? You're trying to trick me."

Alex sighed, still so calm. Chilly. Ends with a whimper. Can’t be with a criminal. Can’t-- "Don't be so negative, you've made your case and convinced me, man."

"Come on, Alex, I'm not stupid. You had your shot with me and you blew it for this piece of trash. That's why I had to take him."

"Hmmm," Alex said, considering. The sound seemed to echo in Michael's ear. 

"I have to say, I don't get it. Sloppy fucks are fun and everything, but dating this?"

And then he-- biting down on his lip couldn't keep it in anymore. Michael couldn’t anymore. He was screaming. Screamed when the thumb joined the fingers inside him without hesitation, dull ache turning sharp, burning, tearing. Laughing. 

There was quiet when he managed to stop. Just his panting breaths and the sound of fingers and lube and now fresh blood. He didn’t remember opening his eyes but he must have at some point. The camera was one way after all, Alex could see, he couldn’t. 

No cold, dark eyes watching him, watching this, just the voice, Alex’s voice. “Let me worry about who I date, why don’t you?”

The sharp echo, echo, echo, like Alex’s boots were walking on concrete. Gait just a little off because of his prosthetic, just enough for Michael to recognize it anywhere, echo, echo, echo. One, two, three, breathe in time. 

“What should I do with this little piece of meat next?” crooned the voice in Michael’s ear. “Any suggestions? Alex? Guerin?” 

Alex’s footsteps on speaker. Echo, echo, echo. Michael frowned, listening, listening, trying to match the breathing, still, even now. The hand inside him moved, drawing out another agonized whimper, blinding white flash of pain fading into red. “Guess he doesn’t have any ideas. That’s fine, we can be creative all on our own. How about you suck my dick and I’ll leave your hole alone for a while? Looks a little too messy in there.”

He sounded broken, his own voice like it was coming from too far away. “How about you go sit on some elephant dick?” He spat blood, all over his mouth. “But… try it and see ‘f I bite?”

There was a sharp crack, messy, bloody, palm on his cheek. Michael heard it more than felt it through the layers of pain he was already moving through. 

“You bite, we find out if aliens can grow new teeth,” is a promise. “We can send them to Alex as a keepsake, maybe.”

Michael made himself meet the fucker’s eyes. It took a lot to force himself, to see that smirking face, proud, satisfied lines. He’d come enough times to be satisfied. One hand still playing in the mess between Michael’s thighs. “Sounds. Uh. Macabre.”

“You think that’s macabre? I could put your balls on a string and see how he liked getting those. I could make him a necklace.” Michael didn’t flinch from that smile, even though there was a hand on him, between his legs, squeezing. Didn’t fight it. Maybe he’d bleed to death if that happened. Maybe he would anyway. Or sepsis. Shitty death, sepsis. Fucked to death.

Max would love that, probably think it was fitting. 

Alex would...

Echo, echo, echo, breathe. Michael could hear the echo of footsteps. Was the phone still on? The camera?

It sounded louder with every step. 

Echo, echo, echo.

Michael closed his eyes again and the door crashed open. Loud and violent. 

“Alex," said the voice. "No, I--"

“I’m a codebreaker, you think I can’t hack a phone location?” So close, Alex's voice. Burning ice on his tongue. "I've been closing in on you for days."

The gunshot was abrupt, a statement. No pain, the body slid off him with a thump. Michael whimpered, pulling at the cuffs holding him.

Body at his feet.

"Guerin, Michael," and the steady cold of Alex's voice, it cracked then like the gun had broken through the ice of it. Alex, Alex, Alex, was kneeling next to him, strong, fine fingered hands on his wrists, lockpick in them. "Just stick with me, we're getting out of here."

"M'sorry," Michael whispered. "Shoulda stuck with you."

There was a hitching gasp, miserable and young sounding, in Michael's ear. "Don't you dare apologize." A pause and Michael's hands were freed, the cuffs falling open.

Michael opened his eyes. Alex, Alex, Alex, beautiful face and right there. Touching him with a shaking hand. Dark eyes wet looking. "Sorry," Michael repeated stubbornly.

Alex swallowed, the line of his throat moving beautifully. He smelled so good, like gunpowder and oil, and music underneath it. "Don't." There was a moment of quiet.

"You should look at him," Alex said then, eyes still on Michael's. Hands not quite touching. "So you can see he's dead. If-- when you dream about this."

"Made you a killer," Michael muttered hoarsely, but he looked because Alex had said to and he wanted to listen. It was just nothing, meat at his feet, staring open eyes, stupid hair with blue dye fading out. He didn't even care. Just… just Alex. Close enough to feel the warmth of his body. Michael hadn’t thought he’d get to again.

Alex. Who shrugged, mouth pursed in irritation for just a familiar moment, beautiful with it, all the perfect lines of his cheeks, the wrinkle between his eyebrows. "You're giving yourself too much credit, I came out of the box this way," Alex said and Michael smiled at him, licking blood off his own mouth, but unable to not.

That made Alex flinch. But he said, "can you walk?"

Michael tried it, just moving, getting his feet under him, and just managed not to scream out when he moved. “S’ok,” he mumbled, not sure what was exactly.

Alex made a noise that sounded too much like pain. Next thing Michael knew, there were arms around him, pulling him up, hauling him into a fireman’s carry. It hurt and he let go of everything but the thumping sound of a heartbeat and the echo, echo, echo of Alex’s boots on concrete. One, two, three.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your kind comments! I couldn't leave it there so have some super angsty aftermath.

When Michael woke up all the way, out of a dream dark haze full of numbers and voices and into something like reality, he was lying on his stomach in a familiar warm bed under a layer of blankets with the fireplace crackling warm nearby. Alex’s bed, Alex’s cabin. The pillow under his cheek smelled of Alex’s hair product. He took in a breath of it, no way it was dream with this much reality to it. 

There was the soft sound of even more familiar voices-- angry, audibly angry, but trying to be quiet anyway, to defend. Alex and Isobel. 

Safe, his brain promised. Utterly safe. Warm and clean and safe. Alex had come for him. Isobel was here now too.

He heard her voice, hard and brittle, in a whisper that echoed across the room, "you stuck your dick in crazy and my brother got hurt, Manes. Don't ask for my sympathy."

"I guess it’s what I do. Stick my dick in aliens, psychos and spies without knowing what I'm getting myself into," Alex spat back. 

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you--” she came back in whisper-hiss.

“You’re the one who--”

Even knowing he was safe, Michael flinched instinctively at the anger, and the movement reminded him of exactly how much he hurt. Pretty much every muscle, back and skin, and the soles of his feet. He managed to stifle the whimper. There was a bottle of acetone on the dresser next to him.

He reached for it, biting back the noise he wanted to make. Alex and Isobel heard him anyway. The angry muttering stopped abruptly and they both made right for him.

“Michael,” Alex said, soft voiced, now, a gentleness that fit badly on him. Alex could be careful, sometimes, could be vulnerable. But not like this, all soft and scared and wary. 

Isobel too, warm and wide eyed, instead of cold and lofty, taking him in with fear. "You're safe," she told him, as if he hadn't known that.

He smiled at her. "Yeah, I'm good," he said. "Got a little too much helping hand, so that was fun."

That made her sputter, made Alex's expression ease, just for a second, just a tiny relax in the tension of shoulders and spine. More normal to their faces. That eased him too.

"How about you get me that?" He pointed to the bottle and Isobel uncapped the acetone for him and handed it over, which was nice of her. It felt cool and sharp on his throat, easing the ache just to this side of bearable. 

He was clean. He didn't really want to think too hard on how he'd gotten clean, who had helped him. If it was both of them. Alex had already seen at least, but not right up and personal.

"I can heal you," Isobel said, suddenly. "I could have done it already, you wouldn't be in pain, but he--" a sharp vicious look at Alex who winced and looked away. "Your ex over here. He wouldn't let me." 

Isobel healing him? But that would mean...

Alex looked at him then, eyes dark and soft again, the anger banished. It was actually scarier that way, like maybe Michael was dying. Or worse, an object of pity. Poor victim Michael. Your ex. 

"I said you needed his permission before you did it," Alex said. "Maybe… maybe he doesn't want you in his head."

Because Alex, Alex was right. Isobel healing him, that would mean sharing echoes of feeling what he felt, the nature of his injuries. She was his sister, mostly. She didn't need that. This was bad enough. She never needed that.

Another reminder Alex knew, Alex had seen everything. The pictures, the video, the aftermath. That was bad enough. And Alex clearly agreed that Isobel didn't need to know that and he was right.

His ex. Right.

Michael swallowed. Even with the acetone it hurt a little. "I-- I'm ok," he said. "Takes a little more than that to fuck me up." He smiled deliberately. "Not literally. And you know I can heal the old fashioned way."

Isobel's eyes narrowed and her shoulders tightened. "This isn't a joke. Let me help you, Michael."

Michael didn't let his smile slip, he batted his lashes at her. "How about you help me to a beer?"

Isobel had her brutal glare but right now he was impervious. Alex, Alex was looking at him, even when she stomped off. And suddenly, he was so tired even though he'd just woken up, even though everything still hurt, barely dulled by the acetone. 

Then, suddenly. "Hey, Guerin. I. Can I-- can I hold your hand?"

That stopped Michael. "Um. Yeah? Sure." He didn't ask why.

Alex's hand was warm and fine fingered and strong, just like every memory of him. 

"I'm sorry," Alex whispered. "I'm so sorry."

That made Michael's eyes roll. "Don't you dare apologize," he said, like Alex had said to him, in there. It felt wrong, painful to hear the words. "Just…"

"Just what?" Alex's voice was soft, eager.

"Can you stay? Just. Not forever or…but just now?" Alex had brought him here so that was...

Alex nodded without hesitation. "I live here," he said. Well that was true.

Isobel came back then with the beer, but Michael's eyes were half shut with another wave of exhaustion. She didn't say anything about their still linked hands, just set the open drink down next to him. He could smell the sharp chemical scent of the acetone lacing it.

"Thank you," he said, to both of them. He was warm and safe and clean. It was going to have to be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I like feedback if you have feedback... 
> 
> Do you want to hear about my genius sequel idea where they hole up in a cabin and Isobel and Alex threaten each other and cry over Michael?


End file.
